There was no impact.

No fall.

No sensation of descent at all.

Elaria expected ground—glass—or the open maw of the rupture swallowing her whole. Instead, the world inverted, folding not downward but inward, as though she had been pulled through the skin of reality into the muscle beneath it.

Hands caught her.

Not Kael’s. Not Draven’s. Not any version of them.

These hands were colder—yet burning—with a heat that didn’t touch the flesh but went straight to the marrow. Their grip ...